Fic; Sold My Soul [1/1]
Sold My Soul [1/1]
Author: nightehfaice
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Quinn/Bert
Warnings: Character death, drug use, swearing, gross stuff, sex, shitting all over certain parts of the christian religion, cheesyness, and general weirdness.
Notes: Written for strangefrontier as part of the usedfic exchange. Scifi AU. This was originally meant to come out all serious, but ended up kind of cartoony, I guess. Thanks to many of my friends for listening to me bitch but then just telling me to stfu and write, my cat for chilling with me for the past three days as I worked on this, and
xstunt_pilots for the beta (because testosterone makes my mind stupid) and confidence boost. (Even if she told me to kick my cat out.) 7,904 words.
Summary: Bert dies, and is brought back as an angel for a second chance. His second chance makes airplane masks for a living.
"Just give me the goddamn hit, mother fucker. I'll pay you back later, man, I swear." There had been near-desperation in the man's voice, tone cracking at the end, throat trembling. The words of a junkie. Moments later a small baggy had been placed in the guy's dirty, trembling grasp, his breath seeming to speed up as it touched his skin. He lurched forward then, attempting to give the dealer a hug, a childish embrace.. He was met simply with a smack to the side of the head, which made stars appear before his eyes. "Okay, okay... I’m gone. I'm gone." He flashed a nervous smile before disappearing around the corner of an alleyway, just another homeless kid addicted to the poison that made him lose it all.
That had been almost five hours ago. Now the same man was wandering throughout the Utah deserts, eyes glazed, feet stumbling. He hadn't paid any attention to the sun burning down on him, almost baking through his layers of torn clothing. He hadn't noticed the same sun set, the stars coming out. The drug running its ways through his blood, sharp and heavy. A small laugh would make its way up through his throat every once in a while, hands reaching out to try and grab at something that was really invisible.. When he first saw the two headlights bearing down at him from the side of the road, he had no idea what they were. Something real or another illusion of the drug? All the same, it wasn't as if his foggy mind was able to think that clearly.
The answer came with swerving tires and a blaring horn, followed by the sound of metal hitting flesh at eighty miles per hour. But there was no sound of car doors opening, questions of 'Are you okay?' or 'Call an ambulance!' Just a pause filled with silence before the car sped away, wheels squealing away. Another pause followed, silence filling the air once more; only this time there was nothing to disturb it again.
---
Quinn wasn't depressed. He just wasn't a very happy guy all the time. There was a difference; he'd tell anybody who asked. Depressed meant you sat there and cried all the time, quit your job and wanted to kill yourself. Sat there and wasted away. That's what he told himself as he got up for work everyday, ran a comb through his hair that seemed to dwindle more by the month. Threw on some the same clothes he'd worn three days before, too lazy to do the wash. A little deodorant and Febreeze did the job. He wasn't depressed; he just loved nature, saving water and all that bullshit.
That's what he told himself as he grabbed his keys, locked up his house and got into his car, driving off to his going nowhere job. Nine to five in a government plant, standing at an assembly line making air masks for planes. It paid well, he couldn't complain.
Came home, took a shower, if he remembered. Ordered some Chinese, or dug in his fridge for leftovers. Watched something on his four channels of local access, browsed online, slept, repeated cycle.
If someone asked, he'd say he wasn't depressed. Nothing was wrong; life was just kind of boring, repetitive. Kind of a downer. But not depressing. Not... exactly, anyway.
---
Bert had never thought that an angel could smoke cigarettes. He didn't think that an angel could jerk off, rip ass, or pickpocket. All of which he'd done since he was sent back to earth, with good success. It was pretty rad, if he did say so himself. But then again, he hadn't believed in angels since he was about twelve years old. So all in all, the odd bullshittery of it all worked out, in some weird mind of McCracken way.
He wasn't even sure if he had the right guys car, though, as he sat down on the hood, cigarette between his lips, kicking off his shoes. But at the same time, he didn't really give a fuck. What were they gonna do, throw a dead guy in jail? Not that he looked or acted real dead, but Bert hadn't thought about that. He hadn't really thought about it much when he was just a normal guy either, so in a way there wasn't that much difference.
"Fucker works late," he muttered to himself, squinting his eyes against the sun. "And I’m goddamned hungry," he added, kicking the heel of his shoe against the car. He jumped a bit as he heard the thunk, and felt the metal indent. Bert sat up, brushing a few strands of greasy hair behind his ear, running his toes against the new mark. "Oops," he added, sliding off and taking a seat on the gravel, holding no guilt. His gaze fell then, cigarette smoke creating an almost cloud around him. One finger began to draw pictures in the small rocks of the parking lot, small stick figures and hearts.
"Who the hell are you?"
Bert looked up at the sudden voice, wondering where the hell it came from more than anything. He hadn't heard a door, or footsteps. Sneaky bastard.
"The question is," he asked, jumping back up to his feet, "Who are you?" He leaned forward on his toes then, poking the guy in the chest. He almost felt kind of like a Disney character, swearing he had heard that same line in a movie with talking, genital lacking animals when he was a little kid. "Then if you are who I'm hoping you are, we can proceed with the proper introductions." His free hand traveled up to his lips then, grabbing the butt of his cigarette and flicking the ashes to the ground. He inhaled once more then before flicking it to the ground.
"I'm a guy who doesn't have any change to spare. And yeah, I know, it's not really for beer. I said that shit when I was seventeen. Fuck off, man." The look on the others face was anything but amused, seemed to be set in stone. He attempted to push past Bert, who let out a grumble, not about to give up. So maybe he wasn’t able to really put off the best first impression. A weeks worth of stubble, clothes torn ragged and dirty, hair dirty and holes in his socks. But it wasn’t his fault, death didn’t give you a shower and a new outfit.
"Quinn? Is your name Quinn?" he asked, tone just as easily turning to angry and annoyed, with a hint of desperation hidden underneath. Like fuck he knew what he was doing, this wasn't like any episode of Touched By An Angel he'd watched at his Grandma's house. He reached out, grabbing at the guys shirt and tugging hard.
"The fuck? Don't make me call the cops, asshole! Christ!" Bert's eyes widened then as a fist met his gut, followed quickly by the side of his head. He could have sworn he saw stars before his eyes when he hit the ground, an almost kind of pathetic groan leaving his throat. He let out a yelp as the car pulled out of the lot, bringing his fingers and toes close to his body.
"Christ, you coulda run me over, fucker!" Bert shouted out after the car, cringing as it sped away. A sigh left him as he let his head rest against the ground, ignoring the army of tiny little rocks that tried digging into his skull.
---
The look he got when the car pulled up into the driveway made up for it, though. Leaning against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, with a smirk on his face despite the bruise that was quickly forming under his mop of black hair. Bert was almost tempted to laugh, smugness radiating off of him like a 'hundred watt bulb. That look seemed to fade a bit as the car door opened though, and a shout of "what the fuck" filled the air.
"Get off my lawn or I'm calling the police," Quinn said as he walked up, voice firm.
"I'm not on your lawn; I'm on your porch... Ow, mother fucker, quit fucking hitting me!" Bert reacted almost like a cat then, hands clawing and slapping at the other as he tried to defend himself. "Just, let me fucking--"
"How the hell did you get here so fast, anyway? You creepy little shit; do you have a car you're hiding? How'd you know where I live, anyway?" The smirk simply returned to Bert's face then, the guy seeming to become more comfortable as the other grew more confused.
"If you'd let me talk without goddamn hitting me, I’d tell you! Christ. You might wanna go in and sit down for this though, dude. It sounds kinda...weird."
"I've never been stalked by a hobo before. I'd say this is already a pretty weird day. Don't worry, i'm braced. Belt is buckled; all hands and feet are being kept within the ride at all times." His voice had seemed to smooth out, head level. Okay, even if Bert had already classed Quinn as kind of a little bitch with a temper and in bad need of his mom to do his roots because if he normally did it himself it really sucked...Well, maybe he wasn't so bad. He giggled a bit, drawing one last look from Quinn, before he too showed the faintest trace of a smile and rolled his eyes.
"I'm your angel. I'm here to help you."
"And you're obviously on some kind of mad drug.. I wish I could buy some off you dude, but I don't get my paycheck until next week. Now, get off my lawn." Quinn just sighed then, the anger gone, the spunk gone. Sure, it had been kind of a jackass kind of spunk, but at least it was something. The smile that had been on his face moments before was gone as well, even though it hadn't really been much of a smile. Bert had still seen it. The blonde just walked past Bert then, stopping in front of his door before digging around in his pocket for the keys. A few moments later he walked inside, gently pushing the door closed behind him.
Almost feeling guilty all of a sudden (but doing it anyway of course), Bert kicked his foot forwards, stopping the door from clicking shut. He peeked his face inside the house, looking around. There weren't any guns or knives or tazors that he could see, let alone an angry again Quinn holding one threatening to kill him if he stepped inside. But then again, it wasn't as if he could get killed. Just beat up by bitchy little boney fucks, as proven earlier. The house was actually pretty small from what he could see. A few bare walls with off white paint, ragged carpets, just enough furniture to be comfortable. He cast a gaze up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed. "Jackass. I shouldn't be able to still bruise," he whispered out of gritted teeth before stepping into the house.
"Quinnie...Quinnie poo poo doo doo face...” he whispered, nosing around corners.
"If you don't cut that shit, I really am going to call the fucking cops. That's disgusting," came the shout from a back room. Bert quickly followed it until he found Quinn again, having changed at the speed of lightning into an over sized t-shirt and sweats, lying lazily across the couch. Another giggle left Bert as he sat down, nosing Quinn's toes out of place for a seat on the couch.
"I knew those were empty threats. You love me."
"I don't even know who you fucking are," Quinn replied, closing his eyes and yawning before running a hand back through his short hair. "'Sides some creepy guy following me around in my own house. And when I say creepy, I mean really fucking creepy."
"I already told you, I'm your angel. I was sent from up there," a pause, Bert pointing at the ceiling, "To come back down here," another pause, finger pointing at the dirty carpet, "To help you." As he finished speaking another smile spread over his face, leaning over Quinn slightly as he pointed to the other guys face.
"And I say you're on drugs. Lots of heavy mother fucking drugs that should have your eyeballs rolling back in your head and your veins poppin' out of your skin. It's probably not a good idea to have you in my house. You could have rabies for all I know. Infect my house and home before finally infecting me and then my eyes will roll back in my head and I’ll wind up like you."
"That's not very nice, Quinnifer."
"Yeah, and you smell." Bert scowled then, almost falling on top of Quinn, but catching himself at the last minute by putting either one of his hands on the sides of the others head. There was a frown on his face, forehead wrinkled, not caring that he was getting all up in Quinn's shit. He was a dick.
"You're a dick," Bert said, before sticking out his tongue. "I don't smell, that's just you thinking I smell. It's the power of imagination. If you sit back and think of cake, I bet you'll smell cake. It's like when you imagine ants crawling up your legs, and your legs start to tickle. You think you smell two weeks worth of b.o. and dumpster diving, but you really don't. I used to freak my sisters out with that shit all the time." He snickered a bit then, thinking back on it, before continuing.
"And, I'm not lying. I died. Like a mother fucking doornail...even though I never got that saying. But, anyway, that's not really the point. How do you think I knew your name? Why do you think I was waiting by your piece of shit car? Which, by the way, has a dent in the hood, you should get that looked at." Quinn then opened his mouth to speak, anger quickly flashing on his face at this revelation. "Bitch don't look at me like that, I didn't have anything to do with it," Bert quickly added before a word against him could be said. "And, how'd I get to your house so fast? I got God on my side, that's how. Which is kinda funny, I stopped going to church years ago and a week ago didn't even believe in him. Oh well!" He finished with a smile, looking giddy as a kid at Christmas.
Although he didn't reply right away, Quinn almost, almost, looked as if he had been thinking about it. Like maybe the guy hovering on top of him was telling the truth. Sure, it was crazy. He could also be stashing a knife under those rags he called clothes. Quinn didn’t know. And he was suddenly thinking that it might not of been such a good idea to let him just come in and prance around his house like he was. That it might not of been a good idea to let him crawl on top of him. Twenty minutes ago he was ready to beat the shit out of this guy. Where had that gone, again?
“You still seem kind of crazy to me,” Quinn all but whispered, still not finding any kind of fight in him, despite all the thoughts that had been running through his mind. “And no offense, but not much like any angel I’ve ever seen, either. Where’s the wings? The halo? The… holiness? Sorry to say, but those aren’t white robes you’re wearin’.” Bert paused for a moment to look down at himself then, blue eyes blinking. Well, that was kind of true.
“I can smoke and jerk off and fart, too. I tried ‘em all within ten minutes of getting here. Pretty cool, huh?” Bert just smirked then, ignoring the look Quinn gave him as he sat down over the other's hips. “C’mere,” he said, grabbing onto Quinn’s wrist. Bert positioned his hand over his own chest then, looking smug. “No heartbeat,” he whispered, suddenly seeming to calm down. Tone of voice almost sounding kind of wise, as if what he spoke was true. “I’m not telling you the truth, how is my heart not beating?”
It was only then that Quinn’s own heart seemed to skip a beat, the guy feeling the blood drain from his face. He jerked his hand back, almost pushing Bert off of him. “Holy shit,” he whispered, breath suddenly coming fast. “What the fuck, man. That’s gotta… that’s gotta be some kind of trick. Isn’t - isn’t it?” The anger that had shown through at first had very quickly gone away again, an almost frightened need to believe coming through. Quinn didn’t really know what to do. He reached forward again, grabbing onto Bert’s upper arm, as the other tried to situate himself on the couch again. With Quinn’s fast jerking around he had almost fallen off the couch, and he looked nothing but unamused as Quinn grabbed onto him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowed, but not doing anything anyway.
“You’re warm. Why are you warm if your heart isn’t beating?” Bert actually laughed a bit at that, reaching up with his free hand to tuck some hair out of his face, coughing a bit to clear his throat.
“’Cause mother fucker, I’m not a zombie. I’m an angel, I’ve told you it like ten times already. It’s losing its magic storybook touch.” He paused for a moment, batting his eyelashes, playing it up. “Oh, and my name is Bert. I probably shoulda gotten that out of the way to begin with. But uh, yeah. I’m warm. I asked that too, it’s the craziest shit. But, get this. My blood is still movin’ around,” he began, holding an arm out, tapping at the veins on his inner wrist, “My lungs are still working, I can still eat and sweat and cry. Everything works, ‘cept my heart. ‘Cause this isn’t really my body. I’m dead. It’s, uh. Magic. God’s magic. And fuck my ass does it still ever sound weird saying that.” He just seemed to laugh it off like it was nothing then, as if this was an everyday occurrence. As if Quinn wasn’t about ready to shit his pants. Whether out of fear, confusion, or the fact that holy shit God (whom he hadn’t believed in for a long, long time,) had sent him out of all people an angel. Granted, by the looks of it Quinn wasn’t sure exactly what kind of angel this guy was. Maybe he had gotten him for a reason.
“Dunno yet. It’s not like anybody tells me these things. But hey, now that we’ve gotten over the whole introduction thing, mind if I take a shower? If you’re cool with it, I’m gonna be stayin’ here for a while too… it’s all part of the, uh. The contract, which I don’t exactly have on me right now. But you gotta follow it dude, or I sprout horns and a forked tail and bite your toes off in your sleep.”
“…Right. Go get clean. I’ll order Chinese.”
---
If Quinn had to recount the weirdest day of his life, this was definitely it. It totally outdid the day he bit into an apple in the second grade, on their field trip to the apple farm. There had been a worm inside, just like in the cartoons, half wriggling, somehow having fully avoided Quinn’s monster bite. When asked Quinn would swear on his life that the fucker had a face and had winked at him. But he had flailed and screamed and threw it as far as his arm would allow, before going home and crying into his mom's shoulder about it for an hour because oh god it had been in his mouth.
Weirder than the time he had slept with Sally Reynolds, only to have her tell him three days later in study hall that she had found the missing condom inside her the night before in his shower. Then again that had been more gross than weird, but Quinn still hadn’t had sex for two months after.
Okay, maybe those weren’t the weirdest things to ever happen to a guy. But when you meet the guardian angel you never thought you had one day, have him steal your clothes, eat your Chinese, then go out for a drug run and come home at one in the morning stumbling and high and crawling into bed with you, well. That’s kinda weird.
But when Quinn woke up the next morning to find Bert curled up with half his blankets and drooling into his arm, he didn’t really seem to mind. He simply slipped out of Bert’s grasp, left him a note hoping to god he could read, and drove off to work.
---
The first thing Bert did when he woke up, was freak out. Why was he in a bed, who’s house was this, why did he have the onset of a hangover? It came back to him quickly enough, smiling drowsily once he did. “Oh yeah,” he whispered, scratching at his scalp. He ignored the almost overly bad bed head, strands of hair going every which way. All he needed to do was give it a few days to get greasy again, and it’d lie flat.
He stretched then, back arching, letting out a happy groan as he heard his bones crack. Eyes still adjusting to being awake, it took him a few scans of the room to find the note, but eventually he did. He scanned quickly over the words, picking out the parts he cared about. Leftovers in the fridge, ten dollars next to the coffee maker, that the password to the computer was cheese, don’t forget to lock up if he went out. It kind of made him feel like a seventeen-year-old house guest. It was only when he got to the part that asked if he could read that he felt like the three year old house guest.
At first he went on the computer, but that only lasted about ten minutes. The damn thing went too slow and just made him want to scream, but other than that, he really didn’t have anything to do. When he was alive, Bert had never really liked the internet. He went on to laugh at something that was months old on youtube, listen to a song on myspace. But it wasn’t like he really ever signed up for anything. The news didn’t very much interest him, not sure of what he missed, and not interested enough to catch up. Visiting the local libraries to do that shit had only lasted a few months after Bert had first been kicked onto the streets.
He quickly moved to the T.V. then, flipping through the channels, making fun of the morning shows. Whenever the early rising portion of America had hit so hard as to watch a couple of middle aged cows talk about shit nobody cared about for hours on end, was a sad day for them all.
Eventually Bert found some stale cocoa puffs and drowned them in milk, letting them sit until they got soggy. It only took him a few minutes to chow them down, the soggy chocolate bits practically sliding down his throat. He slurped down the white milk turned brown milk, bitching that it really didn’t taste like chocolate, and just kinda really sweet milk. Oh well, at least he had still wound up with a milk moustache to point at and play with in the mirror.
After licking it off and tossing the bowl in the sink he sat down in the computer chair again, only this time spinning and lurching and giving himself butterflies until he couldn’t hold back the laughter. But it wasn’t long until laughing turned to gagging, and Bert was leaning over the toilet throwing up cocoa puffs.
Begrudgingly he dragged himself back to the couch then, curling up in a ball, hugging his stomach tight as he groaned.
That was how Quinn found him when he finally came home from work, hugging himself, asleep on the couch. Only with the T.V.. and computer on, computer chair in the middle of the room, bowls in the sink and ‘puffs residue over the rim of the toilet. Quinn just sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket over him and going into the kitchen to call for pizza. It looked as if it had been a long day for them both, and Quinn knew he didn’t want to cook.
---
The first two weeks seemed to pass much faster than the first two days. Quinn still hadn’t really been able to wrap his mind around it, which might have been why the time seemed to fly. Life was playing out more like a ten year old Ritalin addict's dream, or a cartoon, or…something - Quinn didn’t even know the words. Never in a million years did he think he would have gotten an angel, let alone one like Bert. Within the first twenty-four hours of meeting the guy, he knew this wasn’t like any shit you’d see on the Hallmark Channel.
Bert was a handful, that was for sure. One night as Quinn was holding the others hair back, threading his fingers through the black greasy strands with one hand and rubbing Bert’s back with the other, was when he realized it. When he was but an innocent little kid, sitting at those stupid little miniature table sets on the second floor of his church building at ass o’clock in the morning, he’d never been taught anything about this. Where were the wings, the halo? The flowing white robes, speaking in old English about John and Paul and whoever those dudes were. Instead, he was making sure his holy deity didn’t get puke in his hair.
He’d suddenly pop up when Quinn was on his lunch break, seeming to always freak Quinn out enough to drop something. In two seconds it would be picked up and stuffed into Bert’s mouth with a muffled shout of “Two second rule!” even if Quinn had planned on still eating it anyway. Then Bert would kiss him loud and wet on the side of the head, and seem to disappear into thin air just as fast as he came, leaving Quinn’s stomach still rumbling.
But at the same time, Bert actually seemed to kind of be doing something.
Still, Quinn wasn’t depressed. He’d say it a million and a half times if somebody asked. So what if he didn’t get out as much as he used to? So what if he drank a bit more, went from his job to back home day after day and didn’t call back when he was asked to go out on the weekends? So what if he had a prescription for Prozac up in his cupboard? It helped him fall asleep at night. Sure, it didn’t say that on the bottle, but it did.
It was after a whole week that Bert had been there that Quinn remembered he hadn’t taken any in the past three days, and that he was sleeping fine.
---
Bert hadn’t really ever been one for watching the news. Forget the fact that he didn’t even own a T.V. anyway, but just stories of people getting killed and arrested and corrupted politics didn’t really interest him. If he wanted to see that kind of thing, he’d rent a horror movie.
So maybe it was fate that made him turn on the eleven o’clock news that night. But either way he did, and did a good job of scaring a half-asleep Quinn to death.
“Fuck, Bert, what is it?” he asked, more worry in his voice than anger, despite the half-full beer bottle that had slipped from his fingers and spilled all over the floor. At least the carpets were already dirty.
“They found my body,” came the whispered reply, the lights of the T.V. flashing against Bert’s face as he turned to look over at Quinn for a moment, before looking back at the television set.
“Your body?” Quinn repeated, confused and still half out of it look on his face as he crawled onto the floor, taking a seat next to Bert. “I thought you were working to get it back? Or… something like that.” Bert just nodded, eyes unblinking, gaze set.
“I am. But… they found what was left of it, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know exactly how it works. But I remembered how I died now.”
“You mean you hadn’t up until now?” Quinn asked, one eyebrow raised. It suddenly came to his realization that they hadn’t really talked about anything like that. They’d shared stupid childhood stories, they’d smoked pot and drank themselves silly, they ran up and down the street in nothing but their underwear once, and even jammed a few times. Bert had found Quinn’s guitar one night and started to strum a bit, before shoving it in Quinn’s face and demanding he play it. Quinn had obliged, blowing off the dust before his fingers began to move over the strings. Bert had quickly joined in, softly singing some of the harshest lyrics Quinn had ever heard.
But they hadn’t really talked about anything serious. They’d partied like high school drop outs, really, nothing much more.
“No,” Bert whispered in reply, shaking his head. “I mean…bits and pieces. There was a flash. It hurt, it hurt a fucking lot, there was even more blood. But it happened really fast, and I was kinda high at the time.”
Quinn let out a kind of nervous laugh then, shrugging softly. “Dude, I’m…I’m not gonna care. I’ve blazed with you how many times already?”
“Quinn,” Bert began, sounding oddly serious. “I’d been living on the streets since I was eighteen. I dropped out a month before my senior graduation, got kicked out, and have been living out of cardboard boxes in Salt Lake City for the past three years. I was addicted to everything, meth, smack, cocaine. When I died I didn’t have withdrawals or anything like that, thank God. I don’t really even have urges. …But I still snorted some coke off your bathroom sink a few days ago when you weren’t home.”
At first, Quinn just stared. His stomach flipped, his body felt cold. Slowly he turned his head to look at the television set, watching the pictures on the screen. Nothing overly graphic was shown. Just the side of a long stretch of desert road, men in blue uniforms standing around a small taped off section of dirt, others photographing tire tracks that swerved over the yellow lines of the road. There were a few small patches of grasses and wild flowers where the dirt met the pavement, blowing in the breeze. Next to them, there was a dried puddle of blood. Dark crimson, almost black, having obviously sat there for days in the hot sun. Quinn then wished that it rained more out there.
He turned back to Bert then, knowing that by the time they had both woken up that first day in Quinn’s bed, Bert’s body might have been gone. Nothing more than a few bones. They’d go in a nameless grave, none of the people Bert had ever known having any realization.
Bert let out a small noise of confusion when Quinn moved forward, arms hugging him tight. Slowly he reached out to hug Quinn back, not exactly sure what was going on, but still going with it.
“Ya know,” he whispered then, beginning to move his fingers in lazy circles over Quinn’s back. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be helping you.”
“You are. You are, you have, and I never thought the eleven o’clock news could make my life feel like a soap opera in all of ten minutes, but it just fucking did,” Quinn said, hugging Bert even tighter.
Bert just laughed a bit then, still not exactly sure what to do. For a while he just let Quinn hug him, closing his eyes, letting out a small sigh. Eventually he began to squirm though, squeezing himself out of Quinn’s arms until he was on his knees, pushing their foreheads together. “Hi,” he whispered, one hand snaking up to rest at the back of Quinn’s neck, moving through his hair, while the fingertips of his other hand just pushed below the neckline of Quinn’s shirt.
Quinn felt his skin seem to prickle where it was touched, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. But all the same it was quickly followed up with a smirk, his own hands moving down over Bert’s back until they were resting on the others hips.
“Hi,” he said back, trying to come off as confident, ignoring the butterflies that were buzzing around more like bees in his gut. “I really don’t think you’re allowed to do this.”
“Has it stopped me from doing anything else these past weeks?”
“No,” came the whispered reply.
“Then why are we even discussing it. Shut up, you stupid fucker.” With that Bert leaned forwards, pressing their lips together. Quinn found that he was actually a lot better at it than he first thought, not kissing so much like an excited puppy, but a person. Quinn returned the action, leaning slightly against Bert, making him fall back onto one of his elbows. One of his hands moved up the front of Bert’s shirt then, and Quinn laughed a bit as Bert let out a noise, shivering slightly.
“Bedroom,” he whispered, nipping at Quinn’s lower lip. With an aggravated whine Bert then squirmed out from beneath the blonde, tugging on his shirt again. “Take that fucking thing off!” he added in a breathy shout, before disappearing into the other room.
It didn’t take Quinn long to follow after, clambering onto the bed on top of Bert, who was laid out on his back, almost looking shy. It was odd seeing him like that, even if he had only known Bert long enough to compare their relationship to a movie that went straight to DVD. Quinn wasn’t even sure if he’d watch that movie, it’d be too weird.
“Didn’t I tell you to take your shirt off?” Bert grumbled then, interrupting Quinn’s daydreaming. Suddenly Bert’s hands were all over him then, dragging his shirt up and off. He buried his face in it then, eyes closing, inhaling deep. “Smells like you,” Bert whispered, a small laugh echoing in his throat before he dropped the shirt off the side of the bed. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” Quinn replied, hands yet again snaking up the front of Bert’s shirt. He leaned down then, pressing their lips together again. It didn’t take long to discard of Bert’s shirt then, raising it up over his head, dropping it just as unceremoniously onto the floor as they had done Quinn’s shirt.
“You got lube?” Bert asked then, as he reached forwards to play with the buckle of Quinn’s belt. His tongue stuck out from between his lips a bit, kind of resembling the look of a hard concentrating kindergartener. Quinn played it off just as calmly, reaching over Bert to his bed stand, fumbling through the drawers. He yelped as his pants were finally tugged down his hips, the colder air making him groan, fingers closing tight over the lube. All that he got was a snicker from Bert, who wasted no time in thrusting his hips up a few times.
“You’re a jackass,” Quinn hissed before snatching up a condom as well, and tossing both it and the lube onto the bed sheets. He began to kick out of his pants and boxers the rest of the way then, ignoring Bert’s smug little “I know,” as he shoved his hand down the front of the sly little bastard's pants. He was met with fluttering eyelids and slackjawed gasping, which caused Quinn to groan a little, too.
“Quinn, fuck, Quinn, stop…” Bert whispered, kicking until the hand was gone. “God, your hand is my new best friend,” he added before moving up onto his elbows. There he closed his eyes for a moment, kissing Quinn again, before flipping over onto his stomach.
“You know what you’re doing, right?” he asked, the slightest tang of worry in his voice. Bert wasn’t a virgin, by any means. He wasn’t a slut, but he’d done plenty of stuff. Some of it had been great, some of it had sucked. Especially when the person on the other end had no fucking clue what they were doing. He fidgeted a bit then as he took his pants off, kicking at them until he could fully wriggle out of them. He was answered as he felt Quinn’s dick press against the back of his thigh, Bert’s eyes widening for a moment, before he smirked and just pushed back.
Bert’s heart seemed to start again as he heard the cap of the lube bottle snap open, closing his eyes and telling himself to relax. “Start with one, I haven’t done this in a while,” he whispered, before he felt the mattress dip, teeth nip against his shoulder.
“I told you, I know what I’m doing,” Quinn replied, pressing a kiss to the skin he had just bitten, before slipping one finger slowly into Bert. He was met with a groan, the body underneath him tensing up. Quinn paused for a moment, brushing Bert’s hair aside, began kissing at his neck. Slowly Bert began to relax again, letting out soft little moans, fingers tangled up with the sheets. Quinn began to move his hand then, slowly at first.
“That’s not so bad. Gimmie two,” Bert whispered, as he began to rock his hips against the movement. Quinn didn’t comply right away, but eventually pushed in another finger, watching Bert’s back arch and tense. It didn’t take him as long to get used to it this time though, shaky breathing evening out.
“Fuck,” Bert eventually groaned out, moving a bit onto his knees. He stayed like that for a few moments then before he began to laugh, tiny snickers and giggles leaving him.
“What?” Quinn asked, looking down at the giggling mess of heated skin and black curls beneath him. After not getting an answer he pushed his fingers in hard, smirking when he turned laughter into a deep moan.
“Fucker, I hate you. Gimmie three. Fuck you, you’re too slow.”
“What was so funny?” Quinn asked again, now pausing in his movements. Bert scowled at that, pushing his hips back, only relaxing as he heard the click of the lube again. Three almost burned though, Bert hissing through gritted teeth, staying still as he got used to the feel.
“You haven’t gotten laid in a long time, have you?” Quinn teased, glad Bert couldn’t see how flustered and anxious he was too. Bert grumbled out some string of obscenities then, before shaking his head. “You’re too anxious man. Calm down, we’ll get there. Now, tell me what’s so fucking funny.”
“I don’t think I should be doing this.”
“So, what, you--”
“Wanna stop? No. That’s what’s so funny.”
“You’re a weird fucking dude,” Quinn said, before leaning down again to bite and nip at Bert’s neck. Bert simply let out a grateful hum, moving his head to the side to allow Quinn better access. “I want to see your face when I fuck you,” he added then.
“You’re such a charmer. Okay, yeah. Get off for a second,” Bert replied, all the same whining when Quinn pulled away from him. Slowly he moved onto his back again, letting his eyes slip closed. He listened to the sound of the condom wrapper opening, felt the mattress dip again as Quinn moved. It felt good to be spread out, stretching his limbs, curling his toes. Glad for his longer hair that could act like a curtain, knowing that his ears was a darker shade than peach pink.
He opened his eyes when a shadow fell over his closed eyes, opening them up to see Quinn hover above him. His legs were pushed up, bent at the knee one at a time, Quinn falling in place between his thighs. Bert hooked his ankles around the small of Quinn’s back, swearing he could feel a heavy heartbeat in his chest despite it all.
He smiled then, reaching out to grab the back of Quinn’s head, pulling him down for a kiss. He groaned when he finally felt Quinn push inside him, back arching, nails digging into Quinn’s scalp.
Quinn tried to go slow, knowing Bert had said he hadn’t done this in a while. But little did he know, neither had Quinn; and it took all of his self control to not fuck Bert straight into the bed right then and there.
Bert’s reactions didn’t help much either. The way his eyelids fluttered shut, the way his muscles tensed and moved beneath his skin, the small gasping noises that left his throat. After he was all the way in Quinn pressed their foreheads together, one hand grabbing onto Bert’s hip, the other clawing at the pillow besides the other's head. They were both panting, and they had barely even started.
Bert was the first to speak, a small “shit,” leaving him, before he began to wiggle his hips. Quinn took the hint, nodding breathlessly as he slowly pulled his hips back, before pushing forward again. Bert just moaned, arms taut at his sides, throwing his head back. His breath coming out in pants, letting his body eat up the initial reaction of it all.
Quinn was on him again in moments, pressing his lips to the spot right above his collarbone. When he had first met Bert, Quinn had thought he was the shittiest excuse for an angel he’d ever met. Long black hair, scruffy face, small and dirty with a cigarette almost always between his fingers. Had Quinn met Bert like this, he would have believed it.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a tickle against his nose though, head lifting up, eyes opening. “Now that’s fucking weird,” Quinn whispered, current rhythm disrupted for a moment. Laid out beneath him was still Bert, eyes half open, hair sprawled out like a halo around his head. But spanning across the length of the bed was a pair of snow white wings, several feathers flying through the air.
“Shut the fuck up,” Bert whispered, reaching out to cup the side of Quinn’s face, redirecting his eyes from Bert’s wings to his face. “Ignore it. I can’t help it.”
“Pretty bad time to go through angel puberty, huh?”
“I said shut the fuck--ohh…” Quinn’s hand on his dick seemed to silence Bert, eyes quickly closing again. When Quinn leaned down to kiss him yet again he only returned the action, a pang of desperation hidden beneath the surface. He wasn’t going to last much longer as his hand fell from Quinn’s face to the bedspread, breaths coming faster, face screwing up as his back arched. He let out a silent scream as he came, whole body tensing.
That was enough to throw Quinn over the edge, pounding into Bert only a few more times before he finished into the condom, biting down on his bottom lip until he tasted the pang of blood.
He held himself there for a few seconds before his chest seemed to work again, heaving in and out, in and out. He only laughed a bit at the small ‘oomph’ he got from Bert when he all but fell on top of him, but let out a yelp as he felt the bite.
“Get off. You’re fucking squishing me.”
“S’not my fault you’re five foot,” Quinn mumbled, wishing he could get his brain cells back that fast. All the same he smiled though, picking himself up and kissing Bert softly. He could feel the smile of Bert’s lips against his own, and he let out a soft sigh. Slowly he pulled out then, watching as Bert’s face crinkled up one last time before lazily tossing the condom into the garbage can.
He laid back down on the bed then, attempting to cuddle up into Bert’s side, but only getting a hiss out of him. “Ow, ow, hold on,” Bert whispered, before squirming out from beneath Quinn. He looked over his shoulder then, face kind of falling as he took in the wings that were now attached to him. “I wasn’t told about these,” he added, voice just as low, as he tried to move them. They fluttered some, a few more loose feathers falling onto the bed, but it wasn’t enough to hold Bert’s attention. He brought them close to his body before laying down onto his side, in which Quinn quickly followed. He wrapped his arm around the smaller of the two, not being able to resist moving his fingertips against the feathers.
“Think you got bird flu?” Quinn asked, small laugh vibrating in his throat.
Bert just shrugged, smirking. “Naw. But I bet they’d taste good cooked with barbeque sauce.”
“…That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. Don’t leave.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Bert. I don’t care if next you sprout horns out of your kneecaps, I don’t want you to leave.”
Bert was kind of surprised at the seriousness of Quinn’s tone. It was soft at the same time, almost a bit nervous. Bert liked it.
“I’m not a very good angel, though. I don’t even know what the fuck I was supposed to do. I just put us in a lot of positions to be arrested,” he whispered, all the same smiling some. Quinn hugged Bert tighter to his chest then, kissing him again. He sighed before he spoke again though, chest trembling.
“I’ve been clinically depressed for…a long, long time now, Bert. I’ve seen therapists, I’ve tried killing myself, I was on meds, I spent all of last summer in a hospital. It sounds…it sounds lame. But you’ve given me something to live for...I won’t let you get back on the shit. I won’t let you get back on the streets. Will you stay with me?”
Bert paused himself then before he answered, biting down on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t sound lame. It sounds like Quinn, and I like Quinn. But yeah. Yeah, I will.”
Bert let out a sigh then, pulling the covers up around them, nuzzling into Quinn’s side. “And, I love you too,” he added, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Quinn just smiled, kissing Bert one last time before following him into sleep.
---
The first thing Quinn noticed when he woke up the next morning, was the array of feathers surrounding them. They were laid out almost like a wreath, the biggest feathers up against their skin, the down fluttering around the edge of the bed on an invisible breeze.
The next thing he noticed was the beating heart of the still-sleeping boy beside him.
Author: nightehfaice
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: Quinn/Bert
Warnings: Character death, drug use, swearing, gross stuff, sex, shitting all over certain parts of the christian religion, cheesyness, and general weirdness.
Notes: Written for strangefrontier as part of the usedfic exchange. Scifi AU. This was originally meant to come out all serious, but ended up kind of cartoony, I guess. Thanks to many of my friends for listening to me bitch but then just telling me to stfu and write, my cat for chilling with me for the past three days as I worked on this, and
xstunt_pilots for the beta (because testosterone makes my mind stupid) and confidence boost. (Even if she told me to kick my cat out.) 7,904 words.
Summary: Bert dies, and is brought back as an angel for a second chance. His second chance makes airplane masks for a living.
"Just give me the goddamn hit, mother fucker. I'll pay you back later, man, I swear." There had been near-desperation in the man's voice, tone cracking at the end, throat trembling. The words of a junkie. Moments later a small baggy had been placed in the guy's dirty, trembling grasp, his breath seeming to speed up as it touched his skin. He lurched forward then, attempting to give the dealer a hug, a childish embrace.. He was met simply with a smack to the side of the head, which made stars appear before his eyes. "Okay, okay... I’m gone. I'm gone." He flashed a nervous smile before disappearing around the corner of an alleyway, just another homeless kid addicted to the poison that made him lose it all.
That had been almost five hours ago. Now the same man was wandering throughout the Utah deserts, eyes glazed, feet stumbling. He hadn't paid any attention to the sun burning down on him, almost baking through his layers of torn clothing. He hadn't noticed the same sun set, the stars coming out. The drug running its ways through his blood, sharp and heavy. A small laugh would make its way up through his throat every once in a while, hands reaching out to try and grab at something that was really invisible.. When he first saw the two headlights bearing down at him from the side of the road, he had no idea what they were. Something real or another illusion of the drug? All the same, it wasn't as if his foggy mind was able to think that clearly.
The answer came with swerving tires and a blaring horn, followed by the sound of metal hitting flesh at eighty miles per hour. But there was no sound of car doors opening, questions of 'Are you okay?' or 'Call an ambulance!' Just a pause filled with silence before the car sped away, wheels squealing away. Another pause followed, silence filling the air once more; only this time there was nothing to disturb it again.
---
Quinn wasn't depressed. He just wasn't a very happy guy all the time. There was a difference; he'd tell anybody who asked. Depressed meant you sat there and cried all the time, quit your job and wanted to kill yourself. Sat there and wasted away. That's what he told himself as he got up for work everyday, ran a comb through his hair that seemed to dwindle more by the month. Threw on some the same clothes he'd worn three days before, too lazy to do the wash. A little deodorant and Febreeze did the job. He wasn't depressed; he just loved nature, saving water and all that bullshit.
That's what he told himself as he grabbed his keys, locked up his house and got into his car, driving off to his going nowhere job. Nine to five in a government plant, standing at an assembly line making air masks for planes. It paid well, he couldn't complain.
Came home, took a shower, if he remembered. Ordered some Chinese, or dug in his fridge for leftovers. Watched something on his four channels of local access, browsed online, slept, repeated cycle.
If someone asked, he'd say he wasn't depressed. Nothing was wrong; life was just kind of boring, repetitive. Kind of a downer. But not depressing. Not... exactly, anyway.
---
Bert had never thought that an angel could smoke cigarettes. He didn't think that an angel could jerk off, rip ass, or pickpocket. All of which he'd done since he was sent back to earth, with good success. It was pretty rad, if he did say so himself. But then again, he hadn't believed in angels since he was about twelve years old. So all in all, the odd bullshittery of it all worked out, in some weird mind of McCracken way.
He wasn't even sure if he had the right guys car, though, as he sat down on the hood, cigarette between his lips, kicking off his shoes. But at the same time, he didn't really give a fuck. What were they gonna do, throw a dead guy in jail? Not that he looked or acted real dead, but Bert hadn't thought about that. He hadn't really thought about it much when he was just a normal guy either, so in a way there wasn't that much difference.
"Fucker works late," he muttered to himself, squinting his eyes against the sun. "And I’m goddamned hungry," he added, kicking the heel of his shoe against the car. He jumped a bit as he heard the thunk, and felt the metal indent. Bert sat up, brushing a few strands of greasy hair behind his ear, running his toes against the new mark. "Oops," he added, sliding off and taking a seat on the gravel, holding no guilt. His gaze fell then, cigarette smoke creating an almost cloud around him. One finger began to draw pictures in the small rocks of the parking lot, small stick figures and hearts.
"Who the hell are you?"
Bert looked up at the sudden voice, wondering where the hell it came from more than anything. He hadn't heard a door, or footsteps. Sneaky bastard.
"The question is," he asked, jumping back up to his feet, "Who are you?" He leaned forward on his toes then, poking the guy in the chest. He almost felt kind of like a Disney character, swearing he had heard that same line in a movie with talking, genital lacking animals when he was a little kid. "Then if you are who I'm hoping you are, we can proceed with the proper introductions." His free hand traveled up to his lips then, grabbing the butt of his cigarette and flicking the ashes to the ground. He inhaled once more then before flicking it to the ground.
"I'm a guy who doesn't have any change to spare. And yeah, I know, it's not really for beer. I said that shit when I was seventeen. Fuck off, man." The look on the others face was anything but amused, seemed to be set in stone. He attempted to push past Bert, who let out a grumble, not about to give up. So maybe he wasn’t able to really put off the best first impression. A weeks worth of stubble, clothes torn ragged and dirty, hair dirty and holes in his socks. But it wasn’t his fault, death didn’t give you a shower and a new outfit.
"Quinn? Is your name Quinn?" he asked, tone just as easily turning to angry and annoyed, with a hint of desperation hidden underneath. Like fuck he knew what he was doing, this wasn't like any episode of Touched By An Angel he'd watched at his Grandma's house. He reached out, grabbing at the guys shirt and tugging hard.
"The fuck? Don't make me call the cops, asshole! Christ!" Bert's eyes widened then as a fist met his gut, followed quickly by the side of his head. He could have sworn he saw stars before his eyes when he hit the ground, an almost kind of pathetic groan leaving his throat. He let out a yelp as the car pulled out of the lot, bringing his fingers and toes close to his body.
"Christ, you coulda run me over, fucker!" Bert shouted out after the car, cringing as it sped away. A sigh left him as he let his head rest against the ground, ignoring the army of tiny little rocks that tried digging into his skull.
---
The look he got when the car pulled up into the driveway made up for it, though. Leaning against the doorway, arms folded over his chest, with a smirk on his face despite the bruise that was quickly forming under his mop of black hair. Bert was almost tempted to laugh, smugness radiating off of him like a 'hundred watt bulb. That look seemed to fade a bit as the car door opened though, and a shout of "what the fuck" filled the air.
"Get off my lawn or I'm calling the police," Quinn said as he walked up, voice firm.
"I'm not on your lawn; I'm on your porch... Ow, mother fucker, quit fucking hitting me!" Bert reacted almost like a cat then, hands clawing and slapping at the other as he tried to defend himself. "Just, let me fucking--"
"How the hell did you get here so fast, anyway? You creepy little shit; do you have a car you're hiding? How'd you know where I live, anyway?" The smirk simply returned to Bert's face then, the guy seeming to become more comfortable as the other grew more confused.
"If you'd let me talk without goddamn hitting me, I’d tell you! Christ. You might wanna go in and sit down for this though, dude. It sounds kinda...weird."
"I've never been stalked by a hobo before. I'd say this is already a pretty weird day. Don't worry, i'm braced. Belt is buckled; all hands and feet are being kept within the ride at all times." His voice had seemed to smooth out, head level. Okay, even if Bert had already classed Quinn as kind of a little bitch with a temper and in bad need of his mom to do his roots because if he normally did it himself it really sucked...Well, maybe he wasn't so bad. He giggled a bit, drawing one last look from Quinn, before he too showed the faintest trace of a smile and rolled his eyes.
"I'm your angel. I'm here to help you."
"And you're obviously on some kind of mad drug.. I wish I could buy some off you dude, but I don't get my paycheck until next week. Now, get off my lawn." Quinn just sighed then, the anger gone, the spunk gone. Sure, it had been kind of a jackass kind of spunk, but at least it was something. The smile that had been on his face moments before was gone as well, even though it hadn't really been much of a smile. Bert had still seen it. The blonde just walked past Bert then, stopping in front of his door before digging around in his pocket for the keys. A few moments later he walked inside, gently pushing the door closed behind him.
Almost feeling guilty all of a sudden (but doing it anyway of course), Bert kicked his foot forwards, stopping the door from clicking shut. He peeked his face inside the house, looking around. There weren't any guns or knives or tazors that he could see, let alone an angry again Quinn holding one threatening to kill him if he stepped inside. But then again, it wasn't as if he could get killed. Just beat up by bitchy little boney fucks, as proven earlier. The house was actually pretty small from what he could see. A few bare walls with off white paint, ragged carpets, just enough furniture to be comfortable. He cast a gaze up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed. "Jackass. I shouldn't be able to still bruise," he whispered out of gritted teeth before stepping into the house.
"Quinnie...Quinnie poo poo doo doo face...” he whispered, nosing around corners.
"If you don't cut that shit, I really am going to call the fucking cops. That's disgusting," came the shout from a back room. Bert quickly followed it until he found Quinn again, having changed at the speed of lightning into an over sized t-shirt and sweats, lying lazily across the couch. Another giggle left Bert as he sat down, nosing Quinn's toes out of place for a seat on the couch.
"I knew those were empty threats. You love me."
"I don't even know who you fucking are," Quinn replied, closing his eyes and yawning before running a hand back through his short hair. "'Sides some creepy guy following me around in my own house. And when I say creepy, I mean really fucking creepy."
"I already told you, I'm your angel. I was sent from up there," a pause, Bert pointing at the ceiling, "To come back down here," another pause, finger pointing at the dirty carpet, "To help you." As he finished speaking another smile spread over his face, leaning over Quinn slightly as he pointed to the other guys face.
"And I say you're on drugs. Lots of heavy mother fucking drugs that should have your eyeballs rolling back in your head and your veins poppin' out of your skin. It's probably not a good idea to have you in my house. You could have rabies for all I know. Infect my house and home before finally infecting me and then my eyes will roll back in my head and I’ll wind up like you."
"That's not very nice, Quinnifer."
"Yeah, and you smell." Bert scowled then, almost falling on top of Quinn, but catching himself at the last minute by putting either one of his hands on the sides of the others head. There was a frown on his face, forehead wrinkled, not caring that he was getting all up in Quinn's shit. He was a dick.
"You're a dick," Bert said, before sticking out his tongue. "I don't smell, that's just you thinking I smell. It's the power of imagination. If you sit back and think of cake, I bet you'll smell cake. It's like when you imagine ants crawling up your legs, and your legs start to tickle. You think you smell two weeks worth of b.o. and dumpster diving, but you really don't. I used to freak my sisters out with that shit all the time." He snickered a bit then, thinking back on it, before continuing.
"And, I'm not lying. I died. Like a mother fucking doornail...even though I never got that saying. But, anyway, that's not really the point. How do you think I knew your name? Why do you think I was waiting by your piece of shit car? Which, by the way, has a dent in the hood, you should get that looked at." Quinn then opened his mouth to speak, anger quickly flashing on his face at this revelation. "Bitch don't look at me like that, I didn't have anything to do with it," Bert quickly added before a word against him could be said. "And, how'd I get to your house so fast? I got God on my side, that's how. Which is kinda funny, I stopped going to church years ago and a week ago didn't even believe in him. Oh well!" He finished with a smile, looking giddy as a kid at Christmas.
Although he didn't reply right away, Quinn almost, almost, looked as if he had been thinking about it. Like maybe the guy hovering on top of him was telling the truth. Sure, it was crazy. He could also be stashing a knife under those rags he called clothes. Quinn didn’t know. And he was suddenly thinking that it might not of been such a good idea to let him just come in and prance around his house like he was. That it might not of been a good idea to let him crawl on top of him. Twenty minutes ago he was ready to beat the shit out of this guy. Where had that gone, again?
“You still seem kind of crazy to me,” Quinn all but whispered, still not finding any kind of fight in him, despite all the thoughts that had been running through his mind. “And no offense, but not much like any angel I’ve ever seen, either. Where’s the wings? The halo? The… holiness? Sorry to say, but those aren’t white robes you’re wearin’.” Bert paused for a moment to look down at himself then, blue eyes blinking. Well, that was kind of true.
“I can smoke and jerk off and fart, too. I tried ‘em all within ten minutes of getting here. Pretty cool, huh?” Bert just smirked then, ignoring the look Quinn gave him as he sat down over the other's hips. “C’mere,” he said, grabbing onto Quinn’s wrist. Bert positioned his hand over his own chest then, looking smug. “No heartbeat,” he whispered, suddenly seeming to calm down. Tone of voice almost sounding kind of wise, as if what he spoke was true. “I’m not telling you the truth, how is my heart not beating?”
It was only then that Quinn’s own heart seemed to skip a beat, the guy feeling the blood drain from his face. He jerked his hand back, almost pushing Bert off of him. “Holy shit,” he whispered, breath suddenly coming fast. “What the fuck, man. That’s gotta… that’s gotta be some kind of trick. Isn’t - isn’t it?” The anger that had shown through at first had very quickly gone away again, an almost frightened need to believe coming through. Quinn didn’t really know what to do. He reached forward again, grabbing onto Bert’s upper arm, as the other tried to situate himself on the couch again. With Quinn’s fast jerking around he had almost fallen off the couch, and he looked nothing but unamused as Quinn grabbed onto him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes narrowed, but not doing anything anyway.
“You’re warm. Why are you warm if your heart isn’t beating?” Bert actually laughed a bit at that, reaching up with his free hand to tuck some hair out of his face, coughing a bit to clear his throat.
“’Cause mother fucker, I’m not a zombie. I’m an angel, I’ve told you it like ten times already. It’s losing its magic storybook touch.” He paused for a moment, batting his eyelashes, playing it up. “Oh, and my name is Bert. I probably shoulda gotten that out of the way to begin with. But uh, yeah. I’m warm. I asked that too, it’s the craziest shit. But, get this. My blood is still movin’ around,” he began, holding an arm out, tapping at the veins on his inner wrist, “My lungs are still working, I can still eat and sweat and cry. Everything works, ‘cept my heart. ‘Cause this isn’t really my body. I’m dead. It’s, uh. Magic. God’s magic. And fuck my ass does it still ever sound weird saying that.” He just seemed to laugh it off like it was nothing then, as if this was an everyday occurrence. As if Quinn wasn’t about ready to shit his pants. Whether out of fear, confusion, or the fact that holy shit God (whom he hadn’t believed in for a long, long time,) had sent him out of all people an angel. Granted, by the looks of it Quinn wasn’t sure exactly what kind of angel this guy was. Maybe he had gotten him for a reason.
“Dunno yet. It’s not like anybody tells me these things. But hey, now that we’ve gotten over the whole introduction thing, mind if I take a shower? If you’re cool with it, I’m gonna be stayin’ here for a while too… it’s all part of the, uh. The contract, which I don’t exactly have on me right now. But you gotta follow it dude, or I sprout horns and a forked tail and bite your toes off in your sleep.”
“…Right. Go get clean. I’ll order Chinese.”
---
If Quinn had to recount the weirdest day of his life, this was definitely it. It totally outdid the day he bit into an apple in the second grade, on their field trip to the apple farm. There had been a worm inside, just like in the cartoons, half wriggling, somehow having fully avoided Quinn’s monster bite. When asked Quinn would swear on his life that the fucker had a face and had winked at him. But he had flailed and screamed and threw it as far as his arm would allow, before going home and crying into his mom's shoulder about it for an hour because oh god it had been in his mouth.
Weirder than the time he had slept with Sally Reynolds, only to have her tell him three days later in study hall that she had found the missing condom inside her the night before in his shower. Then again that had been more gross than weird, but Quinn still hadn’t had sex for two months after.
Okay, maybe those weren’t the weirdest things to ever happen to a guy. But when you meet the guardian angel you never thought you had one day, have him steal your clothes, eat your Chinese, then go out for a drug run and come home at one in the morning stumbling and high and crawling into bed with you, well. That’s kinda weird.
But when Quinn woke up the next morning to find Bert curled up with half his blankets and drooling into his arm, he didn’t really seem to mind. He simply slipped out of Bert’s grasp, left him a note hoping to god he could read, and drove off to work.
---
The first thing Bert did when he woke up, was freak out. Why was he in a bed, who’s house was this, why did he have the onset of a hangover? It came back to him quickly enough, smiling drowsily once he did. “Oh yeah,” he whispered, scratching at his scalp. He ignored the almost overly bad bed head, strands of hair going every which way. All he needed to do was give it a few days to get greasy again, and it’d lie flat.
He stretched then, back arching, letting out a happy groan as he heard his bones crack. Eyes still adjusting to being awake, it took him a few scans of the room to find the note, but eventually he did. He scanned quickly over the words, picking out the parts he cared about. Leftovers in the fridge, ten dollars next to the coffee maker, that the password to the computer was cheese, don’t forget to lock up if he went out. It kind of made him feel like a seventeen-year-old house guest. It was only when he got to the part that asked if he could read that he felt like the three year old house guest.
At first he went on the computer, but that only lasted about ten minutes. The damn thing went too slow and just made him want to scream, but other than that, he really didn’t have anything to do. When he was alive, Bert had never really liked the internet. He went on to laugh at something that was months old on youtube, listen to a song on myspace. But it wasn’t like he really ever signed up for anything. The news didn’t very much interest him, not sure of what he missed, and not interested enough to catch up. Visiting the local libraries to do that shit had only lasted a few months after Bert had first been kicked onto the streets.
He quickly moved to the T.V. then, flipping through the channels, making fun of the morning shows. Whenever the early rising portion of America had hit so hard as to watch a couple of middle aged cows talk about shit nobody cared about for hours on end, was a sad day for them all.
Eventually Bert found some stale cocoa puffs and drowned them in milk, letting them sit until they got soggy. It only took him a few minutes to chow them down, the soggy chocolate bits practically sliding down his throat. He slurped down the white milk turned brown milk, bitching that it really didn’t taste like chocolate, and just kinda really sweet milk. Oh well, at least he had still wound up with a milk moustache to point at and play with in the mirror.
After licking it off and tossing the bowl in the sink he sat down in the computer chair again, only this time spinning and lurching and giving himself butterflies until he couldn’t hold back the laughter. But it wasn’t long until laughing turned to gagging, and Bert was leaning over the toilet throwing up cocoa puffs.
Begrudgingly he dragged himself back to the couch then, curling up in a ball, hugging his stomach tight as he groaned.
That was how Quinn found him when he finally came home from work, hugging himself, asleep on the couch. Only with the T.V.. and computer on, computer chair in the middle of the room, bowls in the sink and ‘puffs residue over the rim of the toilet. Quinn just sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing a blanket over him and going into the kitchen to call for pizza. It looked as if it had been a long day for them both, and Quinn knew he didn’t want to cook.
---
The first two weeks seemed to pass much faster than the first two days. Quinn still hadn’t really been able to wrap his mind around it, which might have been why the time seemed to fly. Life was playing out more like a ten year old Ritalin addict's dream, or a cartoon, or…something - Quinn didn’t even know the words. Never in a million years did he think he would have gotten an angel, let alone one like Bert. Within the first twenty-four hours of meeting the guy, he knew this wasn’t like any shit you’d see on the Hallmark Channel.
Bert was a handful, that was for sure. One night as Quinn was holding the others hair back, threading his fingers through the black greasy strands with one hand and rubbing Bert’s back with the other, was when he realized it. When he was but an innocent little kid, sitting at those stupid little miniature table sets on the second floor of his church building at ass o’clock in the morning, he’d never been taught anything about this. Where were the wings, the halo? The flowing white robes, speaking in old English about John and Paul and whoever those dudes were. Instead, he was making sure his holy deity didn’t get puke in his hair.
He’d suddenly pop up when Quinn was on his lunch break, seeming to always freak Quinn out enough to drop something. In two seconds it would be picked up and stuffed into Bert’s mouth with a muffled shout of “Two second rule!” even if Quinn had planned on still eating it anyway. Then Bert would kiss him loud and wet on the side of the head, and seem to disappear into thin air just as fast as he came, leaving Quinn’s stomach still rumbling.
But at the same time, Bert actually seemed to kind of be doing something.
Still, Quinn wasn’t depressed. He’d say it a million and a half times if somebody asked. So what if he didn’t get out as much as he used to? So what if he drank a bit more, went from his job to back home day after day and didn’t call back when he was asked to go out on the weekends? So what if he had a prescription for Prozac up in his cupboard? It helped him fall asleep at night. Sure, it didn’t say that on the bottle, but it did.
It was after a whole week that Bert had been there that Quinn remembered he hadn’t taken any in the past three days, and that he was sleeping fine.
---
Bert hadn’t really ever been one for watching the news. Forget the fact that he didn’t even own a T.V. anyway, but just stories of people getting killed and arrested and corrupted politics didn’t really interest him. If he wanted to see that kind of thing, he’d rent a horror movie.
So maybe it was fate that made him turn on the eleven o’clock news that night. But either way he did, and did a good job of scaring a half-asleep Quinn to death.
“Fuck, Bert, what is it?” he asked, more worry in his voice than anger, despite the half-full beer bottle that had slipped from his fingers and spilled all over the floor. At least the carpets were already dirty.
“They found my body,” came the whispered reply, the lights of the T.V. flashing against Bert’s face as he turned to look over at Quinn for a moment, before looking back at the television set.
“Your body?” Quinn repeated, confused and still half out of it look on his face as he crawled onto the floor, taking a seat next to Bert. “I thought you were working to get it back? Or… something like that.” Bert just nodded, eyes unblinking, gaze set.
“I am. But… they found what was left of it, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t know exactly how it works. But I remembered how I died now.”
“You mean you hadn’t up until now?” Quinn asked, one eyebrow raised. It suddenly came to his realization that they hadn’t really talked about anything like that. They’d shared stupid childhood stories, they’d smoked pot and drank themselves silly, they ran up and down the street in nothing but their underwear once, and even jammed a few times. Bert had found Quinn’s guitar one night and started to strum a bit, before shoving it in Quinn’s face and demanding he play it. Quinn had obliged, blowing off the dust before his fingers began to move over the strings. Bert had quickly joined in, softly singing some of the harshest lyrics Quinn had ever heard.
But they hadn’t really talked about anything serious. They’d partied like high school drop outs, really, nothing much more.
“No,” Bert whispered in reply, shaking his head. “I mean…bits and pieces. There was a flash. It hurt, it hurt a fucking lot, there was even more blood. But it happened really fast, and I was kinda high at the time.”
Quinn let out a kind of nervous laugh then, shrugging softly. “Dude, I’m…I’m not gonna care. I’ve blazed with you how many times already?”
“Quinn,” Bert began, sounding oddly serious. “I’d been living on the streets since I was eighteen. I dropped out a month before my senior graduation, got kicked out, and have been living out of cardboard boxes in Salt Lake City for the past three years. I was addicted to everything, meth, smack, cocaine. When I died I didn’t have withdrawals or anything like that, thank God. I don’t really even have urges. …But I still snorted some coke off your bathroom sink a few days ago when you weren’t home.”
At first, Quinn just stared. His stomach flipped, his body felt cold. Slowly he turned his head to look at the television set, watching the pictures on the screen. Nothing overly graphic was shown. Just the side of a long stretch of desert road, men in blue uniforms standing around a small taped off section of dirt, others photographing tire tracks that swerved over the yellow lines of the road. There were a few small patches of grasses and wild flowers where the dirt met the pavement, blowing in the breeze. Next to them, there was a dried puddle of blood. Dark crimson, almost black, having obviously sat there for days in the hot sun. Quinn then wished that it rained more out there.
He turned back to Bert then, knowing that by the time they had both woken up that first day in Quinn’s bed, Bert’s body might have been gone. Nothing more than a few bones. They’d go in a nameless grave, none of the people Bert had ever known having any realization.
Bert let out a small noise of confusion when Quinn moved forward, arms hugging him tight. Slowly he reached out to hug Quinn back, not exactly sure what was going on, but still going with it.
“Ya know,” he whispered then, beginning to move his fingers in lazy circles over Quinn’s back. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be helping you.”
“You are. You are, you have, and I never thought the eleven o’clock news could make my life feel like a soap opera in all of ten minutes, but it just fucking did,” Quinn said, hugging Bert even tighter.
Bert just laughed a bit then, still not exactly sure what to do. For a while he just let Quinn hug him, closing his eyes, letting out a small sigh. Eventually he began to squirm though, squeezing himself out of Quinn’s arms until he was on his knees, pushing their foreheads together. “Hi,” he whispered, one hand snaking up to rest at the back of Quinn’s neck, moving through his hair, while the fingertips of his other hand just pushed below the neckline of Quinn’s shirt.
Quinn felt his skin seem to prickle where it was touched, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. But all the same it was quickly followed up with a smirk, his own hands moving down over Bert’s back until they were resting on the others hips.
“Hi,” he said back, trying to come off as confident, ignoring the butterflies that were buzzing around more like bees in his gut. “I really don’t think you’re allowed to do this.”
“Has it stopped me from doing anything else these past weeks?”
“No,” came the whispered reply.
“Then why are we even discussing it. Shut up, you stupid fucker.” With that Bert leaned forwards, pressing their lips together. Quinn found that he was actually a lot better at it than he first thought, not kissing so much like an excited puppy, but a person. Quinn returned the action, leaning slightly against Bert, making him fall back onto one of his elbows. One of his hands moved up the front of Bert’s shirt then, and Quinn laughed a bit as Bert let out a noise, shivering slightly.
“Bedroom,” he whispered, nipping at Quinn’s lower lip. With an aggravated whine Bert then squirmed out from beneath the blonde, tugging on his shirt again. “Take that fucking thing off!” he added in a breathy shout, before disappearing into the other room.
It didn’t take Quinn long to follow after, clambering onto the bed on top of Bert, who was laid out on his back, almost looking shy. It was odd seeing him like that, even if he had only known Bert long enough to compare their relationship to a movie that went straight to DVD. Quinn wasn’t even sure if he’d watch that movie, it’d be too weird.
“Didn’t I tell you to take your shirt off?” Bert grumbled then, interrupting Quinn’s daydreaming. Suddenly Bert’s hands were all over him then, dragging his shirt up and off. He buried his face in it then, eyes closing, inhaling deep. “Smells like you,” Bert whispered, a small laugh echoing in his throat before he dropped the shirt off the side of the bed. “I like it.”
“Thanks,” Quinn replied, hands yet again snaking up the front of Bert’s shirt. He leaned down then, pressing their lips together again. It didn’t take long to discard of Bert’s shirt then, raising it up over his head, dropping it just as unceremoniously onto the floor as they had done Quinn’s shirt.
“You got lube?” Bert asked then, as he reached forwards to play with the buckle of Quinn’s belt. His tongue stuck out from between his lips a bit, kind of resembling the look of a hard concentrating kindergartener. Quinn played it off just as calmly, reaching over Bert to his bed stand, fumbling through the drawers. He yelped as his pants were finally tugged down his hips, the colder air making him groan, fingers closing tight over the lube. All that he got was a snicker from Bert, who wasted no time in thrusting his hips up a few times.
“You’re a jackass,” Quinn hissed before snatching up a condom as well, and tossing both it and the lube onto the bed sheets. He began to kick out of his pants and boxers the rest of the way then, ignoring Bert’s smug little “I know,” as he shoved his hand down the front of the sly little bastard's pants. He was met with fluttering eyelids and slackjawed gasping, which caused Quinn to groan a little, too.
“Quinn, fuck, Quinn, stop…” Bert whispered, kicking until the hand was gone. “God, your hand is my new best friend,” he added before moving up onto his elbows. There he closed his eyes for a moment, kissing Quinn again, before flipping over onto his stomach.
“You know what you’re doing, right?” he asked, the slightest tang of worry in his voice. Bert wasn’t a virgin, by any means. He wasn’t a slut, but he’d done plenty of stuff. Some of it had been great, some of it had sucked. Especially when the person on the other end had no fucking clue what they were doing. He fidgeted a bit then as he took his pants off, kicking at them until he could fully wriggle out of them. He was answered as he felt Quinn’s dick press against the back of his thigh, Bert’s eyes widening for a moment, before he smirked and just pushed back.
Bert’s heart seemed to start again as he heard the cap of the lube bottle snap open, closing his eyes and telling himself to relax. “Start with one, I haven’t done this in a while,” he whispered, before he felt the mattress dip, teeth nip against his shoulder.
“I told you, I know what I’m doing,” Quinn replied, pressing a kiss to the skin he had just bitten, before slipping one finger slowly into Bert. He was met with a groan, the body underneath him tensing up. Quinn paused for a moment, brushing Bert’s hair aside, began kissing at his neck. Slowly Bert began to relax again, letting out soft little moans, fingers tangled up with the sheets. Quinn began to move his hand then, slowly at first.
“That’s not so bad. Gimmie two,” Bert whispered, as he began to rock his hips against the movement. Quinn didn’t comply right away, but eventually pushed in another finger, watching Bert’s back arch and tense. It didn’t take him as long to get used to it this time though, shaky breathing evening out.
“Fuck,” Bert eventually groaned out, moving a bit onto his knees. He stayed like that for a few moments then before he began to laugh, tiny snickers and giggles leaving him.
“What?” Quinn asked, looking down at the giggling mess of heated skin and black curls beneath him. After not getting an answer he pushed his fingers in hard, smirking when he turned laughter into a deep moan.
“Fucker, I hate you. Gimmie three. Fuck you, you’re too slow.”
“What was so funny?” Quinn asked again, now pausing in his movements. Bert scowled at that, pushing his hips back, only relaxing as he heard the click of the lube again. Three almost burned though, Bert hissing through gritted teeth, staying still as he got used to the feel.
“You haven’t gotten laid in a long time, have you?” Quinn teased, glad Bert couldn’t see how flustered and anxious he was too. Bert grumbled out some string of obscenities then, before shaking his head. “You’re too anxious man. Calm down, we’ll get there. Now, tell me what’s so fucking funny.”
“I don’t think I should be doing this.”
“So, what, you--”
“Wanna stop? No. That’s what’s so funny.”
“You’re a weird fucking dude,” Quinn said, before leaning down again to bite and nip at Bert’s neck. Bert simply let out a grateful hum, moving his head to the side to allow Quinn better access. “I want to see your face when I fuck you,” he added then.
“You’re such a charmer. Okay, yeah. Get off for a second,” Bert replied, all the same whining when Quinn pulled away from him. Slowly he moved onto his back again, letting his eyes slip closed. He listened to the sound of the condom wrapper opening, felt the mattress dip again as Quinn moved. It felt good to be spread out, stretching his limbs, curling his toes. Glad for his longer hair that could act like a curtain, knowing that his ears was a darker shade than peach pink.
He opened his eyes when a shadow fell over his closed eyes, opening them up to see Quinn hover above him. His legs were pushed up, bent at the knee one at a time, Quinn falling in place between his thighs. Bert hooked his ankles around the small of Quinn’s back, swearing he could feel a heavy heartbeat in his chest despite it all.
He smiled then, reaching out to grab the back of Quinn’s head, pulling him down for a kiss. He groaned when he finally felt Quinn push inside him, back arching, nails digging into Quinn’s scalp.
Quinn tried to go slow, knowing Bert had said he hadn’t done this in a while. But little did he know, neither had Quinn; and it took all of his self control to not fuck Bert straight into the bed right then and there.
Bert’s reactions didn’t help much either. The way his eyelids fluttered shut, the way his muscles tensed and moved beneath his skin, the small gasping noises that left his throat. After he was all the way in Quinn pressed their foreheads together, one hand grabbing onto Bert’s hip, the other clawing at the pillow besides the other's head. They were both panting, and they had barely even started.
Bert was the first to speak, a small “shit,” leaving him, before he began to wiggle his hips. Quinn took the hint, nodding breathlessly as he slowly pulled his hips back, before pushing forward again. Bert just moaned, arms taut at his sides, throwing his head back. His breath coming out in pants, letting his body eat up the initial reaction of it all.
Quinn was on him again in moments, pressing his lips to the spot right above his collarbone. When he had first met Bert, Quinn had thought he was the shittiest excuse for an angel he’d ever met. Long black hair, scruffy face, small and dirty with a cigarette almost always between his fingers. Had Quinn met Bert like this, he would have believed it.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a tickle against his nose though, head lifting up, eyes opening. “Now that’s fucking weird,” Quinn whispered, current rhythm disrupted for a moment. Laid out beneath him was still Bert, eyes half open, hair sprawled out like a halo around his head. But spanning across the length of the bed was a pair of snow white wings, several feathers flying through the air.
“Shut the fuck up,” Bert whispered, reaching out to cup the side of Quinn’s face, redirecting his eyes from Bert’s wings to his face. “Ignore it. I can’t help it.”
“Pretty bad time to go through angel puberty, huh?”
“I said shut the fuck--ohh…” Quinn’s hand on his dick seemed to silence Bert, eyes quickly closing again. When Quinn leaned down to kiss him yet again he only returned the action, a pang of desperation hidden beneath the surface. He wasn’t going to last much longer as his hand fell from Quinn’s face to the bedspread, breaths coming faster, face screwing up as his back arched. He let out a silent scream as he came, whole body tensing.
That was enough to throw Quinn over the edge, pounding into Bert only a few more times before he finished into the condom, biting down on his bottom lip until he tasted the pang of blood.
He held himself there for a few seconds before his chest seemed to work again, heaving in and out, in and out. He only laughed a bit at the small ‘oomph’ he got from Bert when he all but fell on top of him, but let out a yelp as he felt the bite.
“Get off. You’re fucking squishing me.”
“S’not my fault you’re five foot,” Quinn mumbled, wishing he could get his brain cells back that fast. All the same he smiled though, picking himself up and kissing Bert softly. He could feel the smile of Bert’s lips against his own, and he let out a soft sigh. Slowly he pulled out then, watching as Bert’s face crinkled up one last time before lazily tossing the condom into the garbage can.
He laid back down on the bed then, attempting to cuddle up into Bert’s side, but only getting a hiss out of him. “Ow, ow, hold on,” Bert whispered, before squirming out from beneath Quinn. He looked over his shoulder then, face kind of falling as he took in the wings that were now attached to him. “I wasn’t told about these,” he added, voice just as low, as he tried to move them. They fluttered some, a few more loose feathers falling onto the bed, but it wasn’t enough to hold Bert’s attention. He brought them close to his body before laying down onto his side, in which Quinn quickly followed. He wrapped his arm around the smaller of the two, not being able to resist moving his fingertips against the feathers.
“Think you got bird flu?” Quinn asked, small laugh vibrating in his throat.
Bert just shrugged, smirking. “Naw. But I bet they’d taste good cooked with barbeque sauce.”
“…That’s disgusting. You’re disgusting. Don’t leave.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Bert. I don’t care if next you sprout horns out of your kneecaps, I don’t want you to leave.”
Bert was kind of surprised at the seriousness of Quinn’s tone. It was soft at the same time, almost a bit nervous. Bert liked it.
“I’m not a very good angel, though. I don’t even know what the fuck I was supposed to do. I just put us in a lot of positions to be arrested,” he whispered, all the same smiling some. Quinn hugged Bert tighter to his chest then, kissing him again. He sighed before he spoke again though, chest trembling.
“I’ve been clinically depressed for…a long, long time now, Bert. I’ve seen therapists, I’ve tried killing myself, I was on meds, I spent all of last summer in a hospital. It sounds…it sounds lame. But you’ve given me something to live for...I won’t let you get back on the shit. I won’t let you get back on the streets. Will you stay with me?”
Bert paused himself then before he answered, biting down on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t sound lame. It sounds like Quinn, and I like Quinn. But yeah. Yeah, I will.”
Bert let out a sigh then, pulling the covers up around them, nuzzling into Quinn’s side. “And, I love you too,” he added, before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Quinn just smiled, kissing Bert one last time before following him into sleep.
---
The first thing Quinn noticed when he woke up the next morning, was the array of feathers surrounding them. They were laid out almost like a wreath, the biggest feathers up against their skin, the down fluttering around the edge of the bed on an invisible breeze.
The next thing he noticed was the beating heart of the still-sleeping boy beside him.